


The Prince Dilemma

by lunadiane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Commoner Lance, I have a plot y'all, M/M, Magic, Prince Keith (Voltron), have any of y'all heard of this old korean drama called princess hours?, plus some of my extra shit, this gon b gud, well it's based of that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadiane/pseuds/lunadiane
Summary: Lance hates Keith. Keith has no business being in Garrison High when he's the Crown Prince, and especially not when he can't control his own destructive magic.However, when a royal decree declares them betrothed, Lance will have to live 24/7 with his loathed rival and be pulled into the demanding, rigid sphere of royalty, and the secrets lurking beneath the surface.





	1. The Rivalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is. I've had this idea for a long time and needed a while to refine it, but I've finally got the plot down.

8 am. Classes begin.

 

7:55 a.m: A sleek black limousine drives into Garrison High, the national flag on its hood - black swords crossed on a deep purple background - fluttering in the wind. Four additional black cars flank it in all directions, stopping every other car in its tracks, which is a ridiculous feat to considering five-minutes-before-the-bell traffic.

 

There’s a traffic buildup of students getting to school every morning. And every day, without fail, the limo and its entourage glides through them and through the gates. A chauffeur in a black suit gets out to stand next to the door as it slides open, and a pale, sharp face emerges.

 

Prince Keith.

 

Keith looks like the universe gave a face and fingers of porcelain to a pool of the blackest ink, because everything about the guy apart from his skin is black - dark-haired mullet, dark eyes, all-black wardrobe plus fingerless gloves to round out the edgy look. It’s as if someone forgot to teach him about colours as a kid.

 

Even though Keith always shows up five minutes before the bell rings, Lance is always behind him. Ignoring that infuriating symbolism, Lance actually has a reason he isn’t early. He isn’t a prince waited on hand and foot because he’s got three younger siblings to wrangle before he can even step out of the door. That takes time, and the limo always passes Lance as he’s making his way to school, a scowl instantly working its way onto his face at the sight.

 

Keith’s heart is also as black and cold as stone, because dude _never_ smiles. He gets out of the car, the door shut behind him by his chauffeur, and the crowds of students making their way into the building part like the Red Sea for Moses. They stare, of course, and whisper, girls murmuring to their friends and hiding their smiles, guys keeping their distances from him. It’s been three fucking years since Keith has been in Garrison High, and this shit happens _every day._

 

No one dares to cross his path, replying a hasty ‘sorry!’ and scrambling away if they ever, god forbid, accidentally bump into him for whatever reason. Keith just says ‘it’s okay’ in a monotone and brushes them off. They later gossip between their friends that they managed to actually touch the _Prince_ without being obliterated.

 

Keith’s already seated at his desk, center of front row, with a novel out. What kind of pretentious asshole has a paper _novel_ in this day and age? Lance glared at him while entering the classroom. Pidge calls out an “Eyyy!” and Hunk waves. She’s a genius who managed to skip ahead two years. Pidge sits in front of him, and Hunk next to him. She likes khaki and green hoodies, and today she’s wearing a large shirt that drowns her frame and make her look even smaller than she typically is. Hunk has his usual vest on, the pockets stuffed with useful things like candy bars and extra pens, because Hunk is a golden soul. Lance slings his bag off him and onto his desk and plops down. “How’s Keith today?” Pidge asks innocently.

 

Lance shrugs, confused. “How would I know?”

 

“Don’t you stare at him everyday?” She teases, her expression turning sly.

 

Lance throws his hands up in outrage and offense. “To scope out competition!” He insists. “Keith’s my rival, and I need to know what he’s always up to. Strategy needs Information, Pidgey.”

 

“Don’t call me that.” Pidge snaps. “So, you read the Prince’s fanblogs?’

 

“Of course I heckin’ do.” Lance declares proudly. “He has a personal flight simulator, Pidge. Built to mimic an actual aircraft and everything. That’s just not fair to the rest of us.” He grumbles.

 

“Whatever makes you feel better, Lance.” Pidge just says.

 

“It’s the truth.”

 

She just smirks, before her expression reverts to faux-solemn when she says “The 1% keeps us all beneath them with their money and resources. Life is never fair thanks to them.” Lance can see the light reflecting off her glasses to hide her honey-coloured eyes like an anime character.

 

“Binch, preach.” He says, slamming his palm on the table. The teacher walks in with a huge stack of papers, and the class quiets down, Pidge turning back around to face the front.

 

“We’re getting our midterms back today.” Hunk whispers nervously.

 

Lance is instantly energized. He studied his butt off for the test and he’s ready to reap his reward. “Hell yes. This is the day I finally beat Keith, mark my words.” He rubs his hands. “Today will be a truly historic moment.”

 

Pidge laughs at Lance. Hunk scratches his head. “I’m kinda worried about how I did. I wasn’t doing too good during the physics midterm…”

 

Lance winces, remembering how Hunk was down with a nasty flu that day but refused to skip the exam, resulting in him losing a good chunk of time by rushing to the bathrooms to throw up. His nerves that day definitely didn’t help. Lance leans over to sling a consoling arm around his broad shoulders, mumbling “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Hunk. You score better than me all the time!”

 

“Buuuut... if I do better than you, and Keith does better than me, then how are you going to beat Keith?” Hunk wonders, a little too innocently.

 

Lance pauses. “Dammit, Hunk.”

 

Hunk stifles his giggles and murmurs a quick apology as class begins.

 

* * *

 

 

There are a number of reasons why Lance hates Keith.

 

A large chunk of Garrison High students end up attending the Garrison and training to be pilots, since the high school specializes in physics and math, and is also affiliated with the flight academy. The royal palace had also announced, when Keith first entered Garrison High the same year Lance did, that he was working towards the Garrison to be a fighter pilot. Hence Lance loathes Keith’s presence in his school. He’s a prince - Crown Prince, in fact, and he’s just gonna become King someday. He has no time to be a pilot when he’s governing Daibazaal. He’d probably shatter the flight sims and the planes anyway. So what is he doing here, edging out another kid who wanted to be a pilot? Why couldn’t he just have fucked off to a snooty elite academy?

 

Their physics teacher picks up the topmost sheet off her stack. “Good job on your midterms, everybody.” She announces. “You’ve all improved - and His Highness Prince Keith tops the class this time!” She shows them the front of his paper, full marks, marked with a neat line of red ticks, and the rest of his class bursts out into awed ‘oooh’s and applause. Keith mutters a “Keith is fine” and Lance rolls his eyes.

 

The teacher starts handing out their midterms, Pidge getting her midterm after Keith, then Lance. “You made a few careless mistakes, McClain.” Lance’s grin to her, all contrite and sheepish, drops off his face once she passes him.

 

Reason number one.

 

All Garrison students have to wear the ugly orange uniform and puke-beige pants, and Keith will finally be forced to add some colour into his wardrobe. Lance can’t wait to see Keith in the Garrison proper, wearing that hideous uniform once they’re out of highschool. Sweet, sweet revenge.

 

The lesson finally begins and they get out their datapads. 3D simulations appear on them at their teacher’s direction, and Lance idly spins the holographic cylinder back and forth with a finger, the figures for time and acceleration and joules materializing around it. Hunk is typing intently at his while his hologram gracefully spins around, absorbed into the lesson, while Pidge is changing the dimensions of the cylinder with her stylus. Lance quirks an eyebrow. She could've just used her fingers to stretch it out, but of course she'd use the stylus. That girl would replace her hands with tools if given the chance.

 

Hunk’s fingers grows louder, and louder, distractingly loud in a drone of buzzing and furious tapping and people are staring at him. The teacher’s about to clear her throat to tell him to keep it down, and Lance turns to him in concern. He gets like this sometimes, when entirely engrossed in a project. Disturb Hunk when he's in the flow and there's a risk he'll bite your head off. People don't know that he can be as aggressive as a real bear beneath that teddy facade.

 

“Hey, Hunk-” Lance tries gently.

 

Hunk's screen shatters. Classmates gasp and chairs screech, and Keith drops his novel (Lance snickers.) Like a bear, Hunk is really strong but he doesn't know his whole strength most of the time. The class hears Hunk’s 'Ow!’ and Lance physically recoils. He does NOT want to see shards in Hunk’s fingers….

 

OK, too late. Mental image acquired. Nothing can be worse.

 

“Hunk, is everything alright?” Their teacher speaks up - and even Keith has turned around to look. Hunk’s datapad has a large, sprawling crack through it and a few shards scattered about his desk. Hunk’s sucking on a finger and Lance notices, to his relief, that there's only a few small cuts rather than any glass splinters. Thank goodness.

 

“I - I'm okay, it's just a few cuts.” Hunk says reassuringly, holding up his cut finger for the teacher to see. “My datapad, however...is not.”

 

“Get a plaster from the nurse later. I'll let you use your phone in class, but just for today.”

 

Lance gets the wastepaper basket to help Hunk sweep the shards away while the teacher returns to the lesson. Once the glass is all cleared, Lance wraps his hand around Hunk’s cuts and concentrates. His slender fingers glow cyan, and Hunk's skin is smooth and unblemished when Lance lets go.

 

“Thanks, man.” Hunk murmurs appreciatively, his voice soft, and Lance beams in response.

 

Class resumes. Lance glances at Keith, who, from the back, is staring at his desk, but his novel is gone. A handful of black dust drifts onto his desk, barely touching the surface before it disappears into thin air.  Black tendrils of energy dance around Keith’s tight fists.

 

Reason number two.

 

Daibazaal was built on magic. The monarchy has always prided themselves on their magical bloodline, it distinguished each royal member, and allowed the nation to rise to prominence. Magic users were encouraged to join the military and put their abilities to terrifying use. At their height, other countries were eager to create diplomatic alliances - a nice name for vassal states, essentially - out of fear of their indomitable army. Any opposing soldier to the nation risked being disintegrated.

 

That’s right, _disintegrated_. Their specialization was death magic.

 

Lance watches Keith rip a plastic keychain off his backpack, the little silver chains attached to some nondescript dice. He tosses it at his desk, but it never lands, the white cubes eaten away by his destructive magic into nothing.

 

“Looks like emo boy has some anger to work off.” Lance scoffs. Keith doesn’t reply, even though he definitely fucking heard.

 

There’s a reason no one approaches Keith, and it has everything to do with his magic. Why everyone gets out of the way, never dares to criticize him and lets him go first at everything. Entire queues part for him.

 

No one wants to be his next victim.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith is pissed the entire day.

 

It wasn’t really Hunk’s fault, but him breaking his datapad during the first half hour of class startled him, okay? It was loud. And Keith knows he has problems controlling his emotions, which sucks, because it causes him to lose control of his magic.

 

Of course, Keith disintegrates what he’s holding. As usual. He runs his hands through his hair, hoping he could just disintegrate himself, but it never works like that. He never gets lucky that way.

 

It was an antique first edition paperback of one of his favourite novels. He loves the feel of old paper, the yellowed colour and the fragile, crinkly pages, so he took his gloves off to feel them for a moment. And now it’s gone and his own damn fault. Why doesn’t he learn? This happens every. Fucking. Time.

 

Nice Things go behind glass, where he can’t touch them and then destroy them. Every time he gets his bare hands on them, they disappear.

 

Then Lance had to go ahead and rub it in his face. His classmate tried to act like Keith couldn’t hear him, but Keith did all right. Thanks a fucking lot, _Lance._

 

His expression makes other students give him a wide berth the entire day. Good. Lets him get out of school quick. Keith stalks through the hallways, gloves back on, his backpack hanging off one shoulder. He hardly registers the ‘Evening, Your Highness’ from his bodyguard Regris as he gets into the car’s opened doors, and then throws his backpack against the seats with a snarl.

 

“How was your day, Your Highness?” Regris asks from behind the wheel.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Fortunately, Regris doesn’t reply, but the silence lets Keith beat himself up at his stupidity once again. He spends the ride home with index finger and thumb pressed to his face. Where is he going to get another old copy _now?_

 

“Hello, Keith.” His dad, Thace, says, setting down a cup of tea when Keith stomps into the palace. Weirdly enough, he’s seated in the main living area sorting through paperwork rather than his office, with a tea set in front of him. “Rough day?”

 

“I disintegrated my novel.” Keith growls.

 

Thace raises his eyebrows. “That’s unfortunate. I’m sure you can get another first edition, if you just contact the publishers.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s _not the same!_ ” Keith screeches, chest heaving. “New books just don’t _fucking_ compare to old ones!”

 

“Language, Keith.” Thace replies, in the same calm, dry manner that he always has. Keith kinda wants to keep yelling at him, but his dad soon summons one of the servants to help Keith calm down.

 

Said servant promptly produces a thick stack of wastepaper and hands it to Keith. It’s a stack of incredibly boring old Official Reports from the Palace Offices, from what Keith can gather off the top page. His gloves are ripped off instantly and Keith directs his rage to the stack, paper crumpling beneath his fingers.

 

“Sit down, Keith. I have something important to talk to you about.”

 

Keith plops down and hunches on the seat. He swipes a cookie off Thace’s plate while staring at him with narrowed eyes. The servant sets another stack before him when the first stack is gone.

 

“It’s about your betrothal.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i wonder who keith's betrothed to? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ a real mystery ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ /s  
> Either way hopefully I update this soon, I'll my best not to procrastinate too much
> 
> lmao


	2. The Betrothal: Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient, so here's a short chapter of the drama teen.

Keith stares.

 

“My _what._ ”

 

“Your betrothal.” Thace repeats, his face unchanged. Again, he gestures to the servant next to him holding a plaque, who places it in front of Keith.

 

The plaque is a smooth, matte ebony with a circular magical well at the centre bottom. The well is split in two, one half filled with purple destructive energy and the other with white life energy. From each side, the energies frame the plaque in two overlapping rectangles, ending in a second well at the top. Gold letters engrave Keith’s destiny within the frame:

 

_On his eighteenth year, under the laws of the ancient Empire of Daibazaal, the magical heir of Lord Zarkon IV shall wed the magical heir of Chief Alchemist Alfor Altea in holy matrimony._

 

_A joining of light and dark_

 

_The balance between life and death_

 

_DATE OF SEAL: XX-XX-20XX_

 

The betrothal was made on the year of Keith’s birth. He lifts his eyes from the plaque to stare at his father.

 

“No.”

 

“I didn’t expect any other reaction.” Thace remarks.

 

The main living area is an indoor garden of carefully cultivated greenery, a central gazebo containing several delicate chairs around a glass-topped table. It creates a peaceful atmosphere perfect for work or a relaxed chat.

 

It makes Keith desperate to wreck something.

 

“I’m not marrying someone I’ve never met! You never told me I was _betrothed!_ ”

 

“We intended to tell you when you were old enough, and that is now. Seventeen is ideal.”

 

“I’m not marrying someone because fucking Zarkon wants me to!” Keith spits. “Are you serious?! Is this the medieval times?!”

 

Thace watches him calmly. Keith rears back like a furious beast, his wild bangs swinging dramatically in the air.

 

“My entire life you keep telling me never to be like him, and now you’re forcing me to do something because _that asshole_ says I have to?! He’s not even here!”

 

“Are you suggesting that he’s worthy of emulation?” Thace says dryly.

 

Keith glares “Exactly. Yet we’re just supposed to go along with this _bullshit-_ ”

 

He kicks his chair back and hauls up his backpack, heading for his room and swearing under his breath the whole time. Great. Fucking _Great_. Worse day ever.

 

Thace sighs. The servants stride toward the storming prince, and Keith’s protests, mixed with the muffled sounds of a scuffle, ensue. Keith reluctantly returns to the living room, scowling, with a retainer’s hand firmly planted on his back.

 

“Keith,” Thace begins, his voice stern and serious. “You know as well as I that we want to remove as much of your biological father’s influence from you as possible. He’s in prison for a reason.”

 

“However, you know that’s impossible from the magic you inherited from him.”

 

Thace’s eyes linger on Keith’s fingers, where dark magic sparks from his emotional turmoil.

 

“We do not want to speak of him, but I believe this arrangement will ultimately benefit you.”

 

“And how?” Keith demands. Like a petulant child, he refuses to look at Thace. His dad doesn’t believe in unnecessary sentiment, especially when it comes to royal duties. Thace presents the facts, and leaves the emotional fallout to Keith.

 

Thace gestures to the plaque, still placed before Keith. “Look at how the energies interact on the top well.” Keith frowns but complies, jaw set hard, and his expression slackens at the miniature vortex of the two opposing energies. Preserved within the plaque, the magic has nowhere to escape, and purple and light curl around each other in a ball. Being polar opposites of each other, neither energy can touch, let alone destroy the other, and so gradually rotate around each other in a perpetual spiral.

 

“Alfor Altea was a renowned life mage in his time, descended from the most powerful light magic bloodline in the country.” Thace explains. “His magic balanced Zarkon’s own abilities and he taught him how to control his magic in their youth. The two were good friends. Before his death, he agreed to this betrothal and used his own magic to seal it.”

 

“I don’t like how this is Zarkon’s idea at all.” Thace deadpanned. “But I think it would be good for you to be with Alfor Altea’s descendant. Life mages are incredibly rare nowadays and perhaps he could help you with your magic.”

 

Keith is silent. Slowly, he brushes his fingers over the plaque and tries to destroy it. Dark tendrils dance around his hand but nothing happens.

 

Thace sighs. “That’s not going to happen, Keith. It’s made out the strongest anti-magic alloy in existence.”

 

“Damn it.”

 

“I know you don’t want this. No one would accept an arranged marriage to a stranger. But…” Thace trails off, thoughtful, “I believe the public would welcome this wholeheartedly, to see steps being taken to curb your magic.”

 

Keith balls his fists and Thace, with a single raised eyebrow, braces for an explosive rejection from the boy.

 

Of course he’s fine with this, Keith thinks bitterly. Thace is the King, after all. He was _trained_ to drop bombshells and react to them with nothing more than a blink. Plus, _he_ wasn’t the one bound to marry a stranger.

 

“Fine.” Keith sags, and a slight smile curves Thace’s lips.

 

“Thank you, Keith.” His father says, with a touch of relief. “Of course, it won’t be immediate. The public needs to be informed. There are many arrangements to be made.”

 

“So who am I supposed to marry anyway?” Keith grouses.

 

“Ah, yes.” Thace sorts through some papers scattered on the table and pulls out a sheet. “Fortunately for you, it’s a boy. A Mr. Lance McClain. He’s your classmate.”

 

Lance McClain. **_Lance_ ** _McClain._ That infuriating name rings in his head. The name of that irritating, obnoxious asshole behind him who won’t shut up and hurls abuse at Keith every chance he gets.

 

“No. Fuck no.”

 

“Keith-”

 

“NO!” Keith screeches, storming off to his bedroom.

 

Thace sighs.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is coming up next.


	3. The Betrothal: Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeere's lancey boy.

“Veronica! You get back here!” Marco yells.

 

Aaaaand with that Lance’s concentration is broken. His frown scrunches up his entire face as his younger siblings scream and run, their footsteps echoing around the entire apartment. He shouldn’t even be frowning with this face mask on. There’s a bang from somewhere, and Lance can no longer remember how he figured out to solve this question.

 

Why can't they be good kids like Luis? He's asleep on the left side of the room he shares with Lance, he comes home exhausted from school, sleeps really early and wakes everyone up at five, not that they need him to. He's a special kid.

 

Groaning, Lance wrenches his door open so fast that flakes of peeling paint rip right off. Down the corridor, his black-haired sister leaps onto the couch to roll over the cushions, landing on the floor with the VR headset cradled to her chest. She shoots her brother a triumphant grin and bolts past.

 

“Oi!” Marco squawks, scrambling after her, and Lance has had enough. He has homework to do.

 

“Veronica, give Marco back the headset!”  

 

“Never!”

 

Lance clicks his tongue impatiently at her deviously joyful shout. Marco rushes after her into their room adjacent to Lance’s, and after he's passed Lance’s door, Lance just steps out to lean on the opposite wall.

 

The corridor connects the living room to their rooms, and the twins’ room is the last one down the hallway. Really, there’s nowhere for them to run. Annoyed, he watches Marco chase Veronica around their cramped room for about seven seconds before Veronica clambers across their bed and barrels straight into Lance.

 

He meets her sheepish face with an unimpressed look. Marco points an accusing finger - “It’s MY turn to play!” - and Lance opens his hand toward Veronica. Knowing she’s literally cornered, she scowls, fingers digging into the headset. “He always plays longer than me, because he gets to go after!”

 

“Yeah, well, you always want to play first.” Lance points out. “So just deal with it.” His hand remains outstretched in front of her as their eyes meet in a staring match - Veronica fighting to remain resolute, while Lance is just bored. Behind, Marco is holding his breath and staring at his older brother with big, hopeful blue eyes and puffed out cheeks.

 

Lance could, theoretically, do this all night. He has the unblinking eyes of a fish thanks to his eyedrops. Even though he doesn't want to. He has homework.

 

“Fine!” Veronica whines, throwing the headset at Lance’s chest and folding her arms. Lance catches and gives it to Marco, who whoops happily and dashes past his sulking twin. “You’re the best, Lance!”

 

“It’s not fair! You _always_ do this!” Veronica yells, stomping back into the twins’ room and slamming the door shut. Lance just calls out “You can play extra after Marco’s done!”, and then immediately regrets it, because that means the twins are just going to stay up late playing games.

 

Whatever. He has assignments to finish and high grades to get. Lance ducks into the bathroom to wash his face mask off, and is about to step back into his room when the doorbell rings.

 

That’s odd. 8 is too early for his parents to be back, so it can’t be anyone from their family. Lance wipes his damp face and, bangs sticking up, heads to the door.

 

Several men in black suits stare straight back at him through the peephole. What the _heck_ . A shiver of panic runs down Lance’s spine and he looks around frantically. No parents. Just him and the kids, Veronica won't calm down until an hour later and Marco _will_ flail and hit someone if you try and get him out of VR.

 

Lance really does not want to be the one coming face to face with a troop of men in suits.

 

Are they from the government? Are they loansharks? Hitmen?! Dad didn’t borrow any money, did he? Wait, _did he?_ Oh crap, Lance has no idea. Dad could have-

 

Lance’s gulp. Should he call Mami? Tell her a bunch of strange men showed up at their door and then wait for her? Then what? Then he’d have to grab Luis, Marco and Veronica and hide somewhere - even though there’s nowhere to hide. Maybe they could climb out from the apartment balcony and shimmy down the side of the building, which would be really dangerous, but-

 

The doorbell rings again.

 

“Laaaance! Open the door!” Veronica yells from her room. It doesn’t help his nerves at all, because it reminds him he has _younger siblings_ to protect. _Children_. Stealing a glance from the peephole, the group of men remain exactly the same, still and expressionless, as if someone slotted a picture over their peephole. Actually, that would so be much better if this was just a dumb prank. Lance is the king of dumb pranks. He can totally roll with that.

 

They’re going to be here until Lance opens the door or - they _might_ \- break the door down. They look like they totally would. Lance gulps. Better to rip the bandaid off as soon as possible. With trembling fingers, he unlocks the front door and opens it.

 

“Um, hello?”

 

Meeting them face-to-face is a lot worse than looking through the peephole. Lance becomes acutely aware of how they tower over him, dressed in black shirts and dark suits with a purple sheen. Their faces are impassive masks staring down at him.

 

Lance suddenly feels very naked in his _Adventure Time_ shirt and cotton pyjama pants.

 

Suddenly, one speaks, face still expressionless. His greying hair is slicked back, making his sharp face appear even more severe.  

 

“Does a Lance McClain live here?”

 

“Uhh...yes. That’s me.” Lance replies dumbly, even as his mind races. Should he have said that? Who are they and why do they want him?! He hasn’t committed any crimes - at least, he doesn’t think he had! Shit, are they really loansharks out to hold him hostage?! But then they wouldn’t just come up to his door, they’d tackle him in a remote place or something like that, right?

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. McClain.” The man continues smoothly, extending a hand which Lance hesitantly shakes. “We’re from the Palace.”

 

What.

 

Lance’s eyes drift over the embroidered badges each man has on their right breast. The royal crest, in purple, black and gold.

 

Okay, what the _fuck_ does the monarchy want with him?

 

“May we come in?”

 

“Uhh - yeah! Sure! Sure, come on in!” Lance frantically says, backing away to let them into his family’s small apartment. He swipes at his forehead to flatten his bangs, and his eyes goggle out when he remembers that Marco is blindly flailing around their living room, but he’s already let them in and it’s too late. Lance bolts toward Marco and taps him on the shoulder, whispering “Pause the game, we’ve got visitors.”

 

Marco screams and almost backhands him in the face, which Lance manages to block. On the TV screen, skeletal zombies are going nuts with their attacks. Ugh, typical horror games.

 

Impatiently, Lance yanks the headset off with a “hey!” from Marco, and the screen snaps to the Pause Menu, ghoulish zombie faces frozen. “What-” Marco protests, but falls silent when he sees the troop of men in suits. A few of them are trying to hide smiles, and Lance panics internally in embarrassment. Great.

 

“Go to your room.” Lance hisses, and Marco doesn’t need to be told twice, placing the headset down and running down the hallway back to his room. Lance turns the TV monitor off.

 

Their apartment can hardly be called spacious. Entering through the front door leads directly into the dining area with the sturdy wooden old table and chairs to the right, and past that is the living area and the sliding door to their cramped balcony. The hallway between the living and dining area leads to the kitchen, three bedrooms and one bathroom. Mornings are insane.

 

Lance drags the coffee table away from the TV cabinet it's pushed against and back into the center. “Please, uh, sit down. Could I get you anything?” Lance automatically offers, because Mami didn’t raise a boy without manners.

 

“That’s not necessary, Mr. McClain. Thank you.” The same man he shook hands with says.

 

“Uh - you can just call me Lance.”

 

“Lance.” The man says, and his name sounds kind of fancy and important with that formal accent. “My name is Ulaz. I believe the dining table would be more conducive to our discussion.” He says, gesturing behind them.

 

A discussion about _what?_ Lance wonders, flustered. “Y-Yeah, of course.” He says, and strides over, wedging himself into the chair tucked between the table and the wall. The men take their places around the table, and Ulaz, who appears to be their leader, sets down the briefcase he’s been carrying onto the lace tablecloth and opens it to reveal stacks of documents.

 

A million scenarios flash through Lance’s mind. What does the government want him for? What crime did Lance unknowingly commit? Are they going to tell him he has super secret powers (apart from his existing magic, of course) and that they’re whisking him off to be trained in a covert facility? Because even so he wouldn’t leave his family behind for anything. Well. Unless if he had really cool powers and could come back to visit often -

 

“As I understand, Lance, you are related to Alfor Altea?”

 

Lance blinks. That was unexpected. “Yeah, he was my uncle. Mom’s brother. But he died before I was born.”

 

Ulaz nods. “Are you capable of life magic?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Could you demonstrate your abilities?”

 

Holding out his hand, light cyan starts swirling in the middle of his palm. The gaze of each person sitting around the table is immediately drawn to his magic. It’s a great party trick, actually. Life magic doesn’t come by easily.

 

Ulaz produces a knife and presses the blade to his hand, slicing his palm in one swift motion. “Whoa-!” Lance cries out, startled, watching bright red blood drip down the cut.

 

“Could you heal this wound?” Ulaz asks completely calmly, as if he didn't just rip open his hand.

 

“I think so.” Lance says nervously, wrapping his hand around Ulaz’s. Actual healing takes a bit more concentration than just summoning the magic to his fingertips. It has a chill, kind of like being in a hospital.

 

When Lance opens his fingers, Ulaz wipes off the remaining blood to reveal pristine, unmarred skin. The edge of his lips quirk slightly, impressed, and Lance can’t help how pleased he feels. “Lemme get you a tissue.” He adds, beaming. standing up to grab the tissue box from the kitchen. Ulaz accepts it with thanks and elegantly wipes the bloodstains off his palm and his knife.

 

He returns to shuffling around in his briefcase. “I’m sure you’re curious as to why we are paying you a visit.” He remarks, and lifts a thin, rectangular box from the documents. With slender fingers he deftly slides out a tablet - plaque - thing from the box, and shows it to Lance.

 

Lance cranes his neck forward to read the writing on it. Zarkon? That's a name you hardly hear anymore - magical heirs? Is that a thing? And -

 

“Wait - wed? Matrimony? _Marriage?!_ ”

 

Forgive him for being presumptuous, but these men were looking for _him_ , so is he supposed to marry-

 

Ulaz interjects promptly. “Before we continue, Lance, I would like to ask you if you could interact with the magic on this plaque.”

 

Sufficiently distracted, Lance goes “um.” and looks down at the converging dark and life energy preserved on the plaque. Said Life energy is a pure white, as pure as its quality of healing magic. Hovering his fingers over it, the life magic feels gentle, soothing, like everything will be alright.

 

Ulaz gazes intently at Lance’s transfixed expression. “What can you tell me about it?”

 

“It’s...the strongest life magic I’ve ever felt..” Lance murmurs. “It could probably bring a dead person back to life."

 

"That's your uncle's magic." Ulaz says, and Lance gazes it in awe. He'd always heard about how skilled Uncle Alfor was, but given that he died before Lance was born, he never got to feel it.  

 

“And could your magic stand up to the destructive energy in this plaque?”

 

“I think so.” Lance bites his lip, frowning a little. The energies in the plaque are perfectly balanced, as powerful as the other. They need to be, otherwise one side would have devoured the other a long time ago. The dark magic is potent, despite only a small sample lurking there. He draws his magic up to the fingertips but pauses.

 

“Wait, if I pit my magic against it here, the balance would be out of whack. The life energy would just consume the dark!”

 

Ulaz nods with a finality. “Indeed. Thank you. And I suppose now is the time to get to the point.” He taps at the words on the plaque. “We are here to inform you of your betrothal to His Highness Prince Keith.”

 

_Oh fuck._

 

“Wait, what?!”

 

Keith?! Prince Keith?!! _That_ guy? He and Keith are supposed to - wait, “Hold the fuck up.” Lance blurts out.  “I'm supposed to marry _Keith_?!”

 

“His Highness Prince Keith, yes.” Ulaz repeats, amusement clear in his voice.

 

“Because of-” Lance glance at the plaque. “My uncle?! But - why?! Why me?!”

 

“Your Uncle Alfor and the previous King Zarkon were good friends, and made this agreement. You are Alfor's magical heir, which is to say that you are his descendant most skilled in life magic.” Ulaz explains. “Am I right to state that no one else in your family has the same ability you do?”

 

Normally, Lance would be puffed up full of pride at that statement, but not if that means he has to marry some asshole prince! No one told him magic had drawbacks like this! And, how did Ulaz know his siblings’ abilities?

 

“W-Wait, I have a cousin, Uncle Alfor’s daughter, um -”  

 

“Allura Altea is not a citizen of Daibazaal.” Ulaz smoothly says. “The arrangement requires matrimony as observed by the laws of this country, and involving her would require further legal exchanges with Altea. You are hence the next best candidate.”

 

Implying she would be a better candidate than him?

 

"Your family is the only branch of the famed Altean bloodline in this country, Lance McClain." Ulaz continues. "We cannot have a citizen of a foreign nation ascend the throne, and I am sure you have at least heard of His Highness Prince Keith and his magic-" His golden eyes bore into Lance's blues, "- and his destructive potential."

 

Oh, he's  _definitely_  knows what Keith's capable of. Lance doesn't think anyone in this country, no matter how young, can forget that sight of the collapsing, disintegrating building, the screaming, and a small black-haired prince hugging his knees to his chest in the midst of chaos.

 

"Like the betrothal plaque, we believe you are the best candidate to balance out his dark magic. Agreeing to this betrothal would be a great benefit to the country, monarchy, and Prince Keith himself." 

 

Lance gulps.

 

“Of course, I am legally bound to inform you that this betrothal requires your consent, and the consent of your parents, since you are still underage.” Ulaz says dryly, to Lance’s relieved sigh. “Nevertheless, these documents will cover everything, should you agree to the betrothal.” He places the stack on the table and lifts up a packet, “This is about your title and duties if you marry into the royal family. And this - ” Ulaz personally hands it to Lance, “is about the assets you will receive.”

 

Lance pauses. “Assets?”

 

“Indeed. Apart from the royals’ salaries from being a part of government, each of them receives a stipend from the country for other expenses, usually to contribute to numerous charities and cultural bodies. Naturally, the royals are the heads of many of these organizations.”

 

It’s not a thin document. Lance flips through several double-sided pages of small font listing charities and ministries everyone knows, and a majority which he has never heard of. On the right is printed the amounts of money they’re worth, or will be essentially given to him. His eyes widen at the figures and the zeroes.

 

If they had even a _fraction_ of this much money…

 

Lance’s thoughts are interrupted by Ulaz sliding an embossed namecard to him. “I have come to say all that I need to. Do drop me a call if you have any questions, or have come to a decision.” He states, standing up as the other men rise as well. 

 

“Have a good evening, Lance.”

 

Numbly, Lance opens the door for them, and only notices Veronica and Marco lingering in the hallway with wide eyes, having heard everything, after he’s shut the door.

 

“You’re betrothed to the Prince?!” Veronica asks loudly.

 

Her voice is as incredulous as Lance feels, scrubbing his hand over his face. Man, that Ulaz guy does  _not_ fuck around.  _Oh, guess what, you're arranged to marry that Prince asshole, because your dead uncle and the ex-king were best buds. Sure, you can say no, but then you miss out on a ton of sweet, sweet money and do a disservice to your country. Alright, bye._

 

 “I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance's got a lot of stuff to think about now.


	4. The Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes i'm so sorry, uni started up and i've been swamped

_Thud._

 

_Thud._

 

_Thud._

 

Sweat drips from Keith’s hair and slides off his face, dripping off his chin. His loose tank top tousled around his neck, he drags the back of his arm across his brow and flicks perspiration off, several beads landing onto the red of the punching bag in front of him. Rubber hisses as Keith curls his boxing gloves into tighter fists.

 

_Thud._

 

_Thud._

 

The dents made by his boxing gloves fade quickly, which just piss Keith off even more. His feet dig into the mat as he strikes harder.

 

_Thud._

 

He _really_ wants to punch someone in the face, mostly Zarkon. His punching bag isn’t as good a substitute as he thought it would be. And maybe punch Dad too, for going along with this in the first place.

 

_Thud._

 

Fucking Zarkon. Fucking _betrothal._ Fucking royalty bullshit. Being a prince has never made Keith’s life any better and this is the final fucking straw.

 

_Thud._

 

Lance’s McClain’s face floats up in his mind, and Keith slams his knuckles into the bag.

 

“Bad day?”

 

Keith looks up, fists still colliding with the bag. Shiro stands in the doorway with a fond smile with his arms crossed at the chest, immaculate as usual in a grey blazer and pants over a dark shirt.

 

It’s sometimes nice to have someone who can read you like an open book, and cut through the bullshit to get to the point.  

 

“The fucking _worst._ ” Keith spits.

 

Shiro uncrosses his arms and approaches, past the shelves of weights, rows of treadmills and lat machines. “How bad is it?”

 

“Yesterday,” Keith grinds out, “I disintegrated my antique, _first-edition_ novel and that asshole Lance McClain laughed at me.”

 

Shiro makes a sympathetic noise. “That sucks. But I’m sure there’s still other antique copies of it out there.”

 

“And then,” Keith continues, “turns out I’m betrothed to the guy.”

 

Silence. Keith watches Shiro process this, his face a shifting mess of emotions as his eyes widen, jaw drops, brows furrow, frown, open his mouth for nothing to come out, and so on. It would have been funny if it wasn’t about this bullshit.

 

“...oh.” Shiro murmurs, concentrating his thoughts. “That’s - wait, how did this happen?”

 

“Some magical document thanks to my _Father._ ” Keith growls out the last word, hitting the bag with renewed rage. Shiro raises his eyebrows in confused skepticism.

 

“Thace did this?” He asks disbelievingly.

 

“No. _Zarkon._ ”

 

Shiro pauses, before his mouth flattens into a thin line. “I see. But why?” He frowns again. “Why are you betrothed to Lance McClain specifically?”

 

“Because of some dumb fucking _magic_ shit.” Keith rolls his eyes, “Apparently that guy is a powerful light magic user, _yeah right,_ and _Thace_ thinks it’ll balance my dark magic, _sooooo,_ ” His voice raising in pitch sarcastically, “ _obviously_ it’s a good idea for us to get fucking married!”

 

“Well, that seems completely unnecessary.” Shiro agreed, similarly deadpan. “They can’t force you to get married, even if it is a magical document or something - wait, can they?” He mused. “Marriage requires the consent of both parties - that’s part of this whole betrothal thing, right? It’s not the medieval times anymore.”

 

“Fuck if I know.” Keith grumbled, hitting as hard as he could.

 

“Wait, Keith. I know you don’t want this, because who wants to be told who they can marry?” Shiro said, slotting his shoulders to directly face Keith. “Neither does Lance, if what you’ve told me about him is true. Magically sealed certificates are legally binding, but modern law should play into it, and there might be a loophole.”

 

Fist drawn back to punch, Keith stills. “So you’re saying I could get out of it.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“I’m getting out of this right now.” Keith blurs with how fast he bolts, Shiro following behind him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Why do we have to go along with this.” Krolia mutters, her forehead held in thumb and finger as she leans against Thace’s desk. “There’s definitely a way around the constitution.”

 

The royal portrait, framed in simple solid black, hangs on the wall behind the King’s desk. Krolia is dressed in a knee-length lace dress that fades from black to red, red necklace, red shoes, and ruby tiara. Keith, on the right, is in a dark purple-black suit with a red shirt and black tie, both with identical expression of regal blankness. Thace completes the portrait, standing in the middle and staring directly into the camera, with a black military suit with gold epaulettes, various medals pinned to the right breast, and the royal crest embroidered on the left. Red slashes across all of them, in royal sashes slung across their torsos.

 

Earlier, Keith had bolted into the office, covered in sweat and sweaty exercise clothes, demanding to see every single last scrap of paper devoted to the betrothal. Shiro was behind him, lingering in the hallway.

 

_“You guys write reports on the goddamn table decorations. Where’s all the shit about the marriage?!”_

 

Thace had simply inclined his head downward, before summoning a servant to get Keith what he wanted.

 

“It’s definitely a risky move.” He admits to Krolia, setting down his pen. “If we give Zarkon the benefit of the doubt, it’s possible he’s attempting to help Keith. But that is also a naive position. Undoubtedly he intends to do something with Lance McClain, yet undeniably, I believe Keith will benefit.”

 

“Keith just needs further training. He’s only seventeen.” Krolia presses, crossing her arms.

 

“From who?” Thace asks, a slight frown on his face. “We’ve discussed this before. We possess no magic ourselves, and the only individual capable of teaching Keith to control his destructive magic is Zarkon, imprisoned below ground.”

 

“Allura Altea?”

 

“Her current whereabouts are unknown, and we cannot command foreign citizens to our will.”

 

“Still,” Krolia grumbles, “Marriage is too extreme just for Keith to get a magic inhibitor.”

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Thace said, a wry smile on his face. “Which is why I honestly doubt it will actually happen. From what Keith has constantly been telling me about Lance, I don’t think they like each other very much. Yet it turns out Mr. McClain might be who Keith has needed all along. We’ll just have to use what we have at our disposal.”

 

Krolia narrows her eyes, before breaking into a chuckle. “You sly dog. It’s never going to happen.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The first thing Lance sees when he opens his eyes is his small shared bedroom, sunlight falling on the faded blue paint and Luis’s rumpled bed empty. He can smell something delicious cooking and the crackle of the stove as Dad works in the kitchen.

 

It’s a normal Saturday morning, everyone is at home, and Lance is betrothed to Keith.

 

If he says yes.

 

Lance groans at the recollection as he gets off his bed, rubbing his eyes, and heads to the bathroom. Teeth brushed and face routine later, he shoulders past Luis in the hallway to get to the kitchen. Dad’s making pancakes.

 

He’ll have to tell them eventually, he thinks, but Veronica beats him to it. Standing next to the counter, her features intently serious, she catches sight of Lance and immediately chirps, “Lance is betrothed to the prince!”

 

“Veronica!” Lance protests, scandalized.  Dad, in sloppy nightclothes and tousled hair, nods sleepily and yawns, poking at the edges of the cooking pancake with a spatula. “Uh huh.”

 

“It’s true! The prince’s bodyguards came over yesterday!”

 

“They’re not bodyguards!” Marco points out, sticking his head into the kitchen. “They’re palace guys-”

 

“Shh!” Lance hisses, lightly shoving both siblings away as he opens the fridge. “This is for me to discuss with Dad and Mami!”

 

Glass of milk in hand, he sits at the table to await pancakes, next to Mami who’s sleepily stirring her coffee, elbow on the table and hand propping up her head. Lance instantaneously looks away, shoulders hunching and legs snapping together. Did she hear that?

 

He takes a nervous sip of ice-cold milk. Maybe he should bring it up after breakfast at least?

 

“Mami, uh. Did you hear that?” Lance asks cautiously.

 

Her spoon scrapes against her cup. “Hear what?” She mumbles, thick curly hair falling over her face. Lance gently brushes it away before it drops into her coffee.

 

“Nothing, I’ll tell you later.” They should at least have the chance to wake up.

 

His siblings will blurt it out for him anyway, and they do.

 

“So, last night,” Veronica says conversationally as she cuts up her pancakes, “a bunch of palace guys came to our house.”

 

“Hmm, why?” Mami looks at her. Lance rolls his eyes. Of course his mouth is full right at this moment.

 

“They came to tell Lance that he’s arranged to marry the Prince.”

 

Mami just squints her eyes. Dad raises his eyebrows from behind his coffee, his bright yellow mug only emphasizing his dark eyebags.

 

“Is this a joke or…” Mami wonders, eyes darting from Veronica’s completely sincere face, to Marco’s excited one, to Luis’s cheeks puffed out with food, back to Lance’s resigned expression.

 

He swallows a mouthful of soggy pancake. “It’s true.” Lance sighs and fetches the stack of official documents left overnight on the coffee table, Ulaz’s namecard resting on top, putting them on a clean spot of the breakfast table.

 

Their plates clink together as they're pushed aside. His parents pull the stack over and huddle around, while his siblings lean forward expectantly. Dad picks up Ulaz’s namecard and stares at it, at the royal insignia on the small slip of card reproduced identically on the topmost booklet. Mami picks up the hardback booklet and flips through it. The more she reads, the more her jaw hangs open in shock.

 

“Wait, for real?” Dad sputters.  

 

Lance leans back in his chair and scrubs his face with his hand. “We’ll talk about it later.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith slouches in his chair - his gloves back on - amid stacks of paperwork on his desk, higher than his head. He idly flips through sheets, the tiny black font melting into each other. He loves reading, but only when it's actually interesting.

 

Beside him, Shiro is intently reading through a bound report with pursed lips as he quietly reads the words out under his breath, finger tracing beneath the lines of legal clauses.

 

“...the foundations of this arrangement consist of: one, Section 011C of the Galran statute of marriage privileging magical unions, two, the Common Marriage Act - hold on,” Shiro drops the report back on Keith’s overflowing desk, and picked up his tablet to begin rapidly searching through the online constitution.

 

Keith straightens up, surreptitiously tossing his sheets of paper aside to watch Shiro. “You found something?”

 

“Maybe-” Shiro murmurs, typing into the search function. “...defined as between two persons - citizens - of Daibazaal - _requiring consent between both parties!_ Here-!” He thrust the tablet under Keith’s nose, pointing at the zoomed in words. “If Lance doesn’t agree, you don’t have to marry him!”

 

Keith grabs the tablet, eyes darting as he rapidly takes the words in. “Fuck yes. Bless you, Shiro.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _Tick tock,_ goes the clock.

 

Veronica, Luis and Marco are hiding in the hallway where they think they can’t be seen, even though Lance and his parents definitely can. The remnants of breakfast have already been cleared away, and the documents from the palace dudes are strewn all over their small dining table. On his left, Dad’s seated and reading through a few sheets, while on his right Mami is standing, one hand on her hip as she reads through another.

 

One hardback booklet in particular lies open in the middle. Jacket red, the gold-embossed letters of “ _Proposed Financial Assets for the Prince Consort_ ” reveal everything about its contents. Rows of descriptions and their lines of zeroes stack each page, and Lance, both hands folded nervously in his lap, keeps staring at them.

 

“As accordance with Palace guidelines for the Royal Family, the Prince Consort will take up permanent residence in the Imperial Palace-” Mami reads out in a mutter before tossing the sheet back onto the table.  “Ridiculous! This is your home and you are not staying away from your family, Lance!” She folds her arms. Lance picks it up and read it with wide eyes before wincing. Of course. There it was, printed in black and white. Of course they would pull this kind of shit. No free lunch and all that.

 

Dad lets the sheets of paper fall from his hands. “Is this even up for discussion?”

 

Lance stares at him.

 

“You’re most likely not going to agree to this, right?” Dad beams his usual reassuring grin. “So what’s there to worry about? None of this is going to apply to you.”

 

“But what about-” Lance’s eyes flick over to the red book. The zeroes. All that money.

 

“What about what?” Dad follows his eyes, and his gaze lands on the open booklet. His eyes narrow slightly, but his tone remains unchanged. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“Well uh - that’s a lot of money.” Lance says lamely. “It would be pretty cool - I guess - if we had -”

 

“Not if we have to exchange you for it!” Mami insists, her brows furrowed. “Lance, you don’t actually want to marry Prince Keith, do you?”

 

Lance wrinkles his nose. “Of course not!”

 

“Then that’s settled.” She places a hand on Lance’s shoulder comfortingly as Dad flicks the red booklet closed, the cover obscuring the lines of zeroes. “Don’t worry about money. It’s our responsibility, not yours.”

 

“You’re not going to think about this more?” Lance asks, perplexed. “I mean - that’s the royal family, and if I-”

 

“Lance Alejandro Nicolás McClain, I know what’s going through your mind right now and I’m telling you to knock it off.” Mami snaps immediately. Dad assumes an appropriately serious expression. “You were only told this yesterday and you’ve already decided even though you just found out you have to live in the palace from now on? You’re the one who needs to think about this more. Is it really worth it to sell yourself to the royal family just for money?”

 

“No…” He mumbles quietly.

 

“It’s our job as parents to earn money for you kids.” Dad cuts in. “You’re only seventeen, not even in college yet, your responsibility is to study, not earn money.” He affectionately ruffles Lance’s hair.

 

That appears to be the end of the discussion aside from a few more comments, and it’s not even eleven yet. Mami stacks the documents back together and puts them aside - “You’d better call -” She glances at the namecard, “ _Ulaz_ to tell him your answer.” Both get up from the dinner table, Dad patting him on the shoulder before leaving to get ready for his weekend job and Mami headed for the TV to catch up on her favourite soap opera.  Lance remains, fumbling with his fingers in thought.

 

His siblings rush over. “So you’re just going to say no?” Marco asks.

 

“But if you marry the prince, you’ll be famous! You’ll get to see inside the palace and _live_ there. Plus they’re so rich-” Veronica blabbers.

 

“Ronnie, _stop it_.” Mami calls. “Lance can’t leave the palace if he marries the prince, do you really want that?!”  

 

“Oh no.” Luis, bless his heart, looks sad.

 

“But then Marco could sleep in the same room as Luis and I’d get my own room-”

 

“VERONICA.” 

 

She huffs. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Lance snickers, ruffling her hair, but only half-heartedly.  Of course his parents would tell him that. It’s what all good parents say.

 

Lance picks up Ulaz’s namecard and fiddles with it, tracing his fingertips over the embossed contact number. Dad strides across the living room in his work uniform and bids a casual goodbye to them all before heading out.

 

They can tell him to disregard their money problems all they want, but Lance isn’t blind. His parents have several jobs between them and money is always tight. He’s heard them discuss finances plenty of times, talking about the cost of his school fees, about how to make ends meet, mostly how they could save more money for Veronica, Marco and Luis’s education in the future. These discussions mostly happened late into the night after they’d finally come home from work, assuming none of the kids were still awake to hear.

 

A small part of him wishes that his parents wanted him to say yes. That way he could blame everything on them, not feel guilty about saying no, and things would be simpler.

 

Shitty, but also simpler.

 

He doesn’t want to marry Keith. No one likes arranged marriages, who’d willingly marry someone they hated? It would suck so much to leave his family. Maybe Ronnie and Mami thought he’d rather live in an enormous palace where everything was sure to be expensive and luxurious, but this was home. Home that was small and cramped and noisy but warm and loving.

 

But if he said yes - they could pay off their loans and debts. They wouldn’t have to worry about the exorbitant school fees for Garrison High, or how to pay for the tuition of his younger siblings, they wouldn’t have to worry about rent - heck, they could probably move into a brand new house (with two storeys) plus brand new furniture on top of it, and his parents could literally retire-

 

Lance slips the namecard into his pocket. Mami is currently in the bathroom, two women having a hysterical screaming match on the TV screen, so he nabs the stack of palace documents off the TV counter and darts into his room, cramming it into an obscure corner of his bookcase.

 


	5. The Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god writing the conversation lance has with hunk and pidge was like pulling teeth

 

Lance’s phone rings and his face twists into confusion at the sight of the screen. It’s _literally_ an unknown caller because there are no numbers on it. Just a string of dashes. What the fuck.

 

“Hello????” He answers with some trepidation.

 

_“Lance?”_

 

The voice is deep but not too deep, a masculine voice with a high inflection that isn’t just from the questioning tone. It sounds like it’s coming from the back of the guy’s throat but still smooth. It’s also kind of familiar but he can’t place who it belongs to.

 

“Yes???” Lance replies. Why does this guy have a protected number? “Who is this?”

 

_“It’s Keith.”_

 

His heartbeat stops. “ **_Keith?!_ ** As in, royal highness crown prince whatever Keith?” He quickly dials his voice down from a shout to a whisper, looking around frantically to make sure none of his nosy siblings can hear him. Lance darts forward and quickly shuts the door of his room, moving away from it as much as possible. Sitting on the far end of his bed, he straightens up, shoulders loose and ready (as much as he’ll ever be) for the next bombshell dropped on him. What does the royal family want with him _now?!_

 

Keith groans over the phone. _“Yes. Ugh.”_ Lance can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I’m not calling you ‘Your Highness’.”

 

_“Good. I don’t care. Anyway-”_

 

“Why can't I see your phone number? Is it royalty privileges?” Lance interrupts.

 

_“Yeah, security measures. I'm calling because-”_

 

“Hey, I was wondering, do you have a last name?” Lance smirks, reveling in his obnoxiousness. “Like, I’ve always wondered what the Royal Family’s surname is. Do you guys have one? Or is it just like ‘Your Royal Highness Keith’ on your birth certificate or something-”

 

 _“It’s Marmorra.”_ Keith grumbles. _“For now, anyway.”_

 

Keith Marmorra. That sounds like he could be just an ordinary dude. _Weird._ “Whaddya mean ‘for now’?” Lance presses.

 

 _“That’s not important right now._ **_God_ ** _, you’re annoying.”_

 

“Hey-!”

 

 _“Shut up and listen to me.”_ Keith snaps. Lance rolls his eyes. It’s probably second nature for him to order people around, what with being a Prince and all. _“Did anyone from the Palace visit you?”_

 

Lance scowls. “Yes.” He replies with as much distaste as he can muster.

 

_“So you’re all caught up. Okay. What’s your answer?”_

 

“My answer?”

 

 _“To the betrothal.”_ Keith says impatiently. _“Do you want to marry me or not?”_

 

“Fuck no!” Lance sneers, folding his leg to prop his elbow on one knee, other leg dangling off the bed. The idea sounds even worse when Keith's the one saying it.

 

 _“Great.”_ Keith says, his tone tinged with excitement and relief. _“So, okay, look. Tell them no. Just say you don’t want the betrothal. They’ll have to take your word and cancel it.”_

 

“They?” Lance asks curiously.

 

 _“The Palace staff. Government staff. My Dad. Whoever’s working to set this bullshit up.”_ Keith huffed, and Lance can hear the frustration in his voice. It was oddly relieving to know that Keith didn’t want this as well. _“If both parties don’t consent, and trust me, I_ **_don’t_ ** _want to marry you either, they can’t force us-”_

 

“Who’d want to marry you anyway?!” Lance interrupts, instantly offended for some reason. He was a _delight_.

 

 _“Whatever.”_ Lance could hear Keith roll his eyes. _“Good to know we’re on the same page. The fact is we don’t want to marry each other, and we don’t have to. So just call them back and tell them no.”_

 

Lance rubs thumb and forefinger together. It feels like he’s missing something here. “Is it really that easy?” He mutters, frowning.

 

 _“It is.”_ Keith says, almost conspiratorially. _“Under the constitution, two people have to consent to get married. So there’s our loophole.”_

 

“What if they...force us? Doesn’t the King - or whoever - have royal authority or whatever?”

 

_“No, we’re a constitutional monarchy. Our responsibilities are mostly ceremonial and we don’t actually have any power.”_

 

Lance snickers. “Yet you guys get so much money for sitting around and looking pretty. Ulaz showed me.” He declared smugly. “What are we even paying you for?”

 

 _“Nothing much really._ ” Keith deadpans a surprisingly honest answer. _“So you’re gonna say no, right?”_

 

“Duh. I wouldn’t pick you if you were the last person on Earth.” Lance finds himself blurting out vitriol before he can help it. It’s the honest truth. Who wants to even be near this self-absorbed antisocial loner?

 

 _“Good. That’s all I wanted to say.”_  Keith says, sounding kind of relieved, and the line cuts off. Lance holds his phone away from his ear and stares at it. That was the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, what kind of person hangs up without saying ‘bye’?! Fuckin’ weird emo loner prince brat.

 

Is this just what the Royal Family is like? Weird and abrupt and clipped, throwing demands at you as they please, clapping their hands, _chop chop servants, meet my demands_? First it was Ulaz, now it was Keith - even if this conversation is the longest one he’s ever had with the guy.

 

His life, like a telenovella, changes dramatically with the passing of the wind. Yesterday he’s betrothed to the prince. Today (at least according to Keith) he can just say no and go back to his normal life like nothing happened.

 

It can’t end that easily. There’s probably something like…a court hearing they’ll drag him to the Palace for or whatever he’ll have to go through if he says no. Being kidnapped by Special Police, et cetera.

 

He doesn’t want to marry Keith, and Keith doesn’t want to marry him. Problem solved, right? But it’s not about what he wants. It’s about what he should - and _needs_ to do for his family.

 

Ulaz’s namecard in his back pocket feels like it’s burning onto his skin, Lance hyperaware of its presence.

 

* * *

 

 

[14:18] _guys we need to talk_

[14:18] _can we_

[14:18] _uhh_

[14:18] _meet up at hunks place_

[14:18] _?_

[14:19] _its important_

 

hunka burnin love [14:19] _Did something bad happen?????_

hunka burnin love [14:19] _I’m free_

  
  


pidgeon [14:25] _wtf that sounds so ominous_

 

pidgeon [14:25] _fine_  

 

* * *

 

 

“Lance! Pidge! It’s great to see you!” Celeste, one of Hunk’s moms, chirps brightly at them when they step into her house. The apartment smells amazing as usual, chocolate and cinnamon wafting from the kitchen. She hugs Hunk, whose “hey mom” is muffled in her caramel brown curls.

 

“Hi.” Lance says with a wave, and Pidge greets her with a “Hey Celeste-”

 

“Uh-uh, what did we say about calling me that?” She corrects the girl with a waggle of her fingers, her hot pink earrings rattling as she tilts her head. Pidge colours a little, and mumbles out “Hey...mom…”

 

“That’s better! Now,” She moves away in the direction of the kitchen, “I’ve got some muffins fresh out of the oven, anyone want one?”

 

“Yeah.” “Yup.” Hunk protests immediately, following her- “Aww, mom, I was gonna make them something!”

 

“Well you can make them some drinks!” Celeste calls out, pulling a tray of steaming muffins from the oven. “Anything’s better with something to wash it down with.”  

 

Hunk’s home is Lance’s second home. Lance saunters over to the cranberry-coloured couch and flops over, smushing his face into the cushions and inhaling the scent of sunlight and floral detergent. Pidge hops over, landing on the couch, which causes it to skirt forward with a screech, birch frame dragging along the dark wooden floor. He lifts his head up to smile brightly at Celeste and accept a chocolate chip muffin when she offers the fresh tray to them.

 

If Hunk was a place, then his home would be it. The accent wall on one side is a light honey colour that fills the entire ceiling as well, reminding Lance of orange juice, with gold splashes of warm light on the white walls from the scone lamps. The couch is huge and cozy, replete with fat cushions, the dining table large and round and the colour of chocolate. There’s sunflowers in an opal vase, framed family portraits, curtains and the perpetual smell of something delicious in the air. Celeste arranges the muffins on a decorative glass plate before covering them, and chats with both of them while seated on one of the dining chairs.

 

“Whaddya wanna drink guys?” Hunk asks.

 

“Laffe.” Pidge mumbles, mouth full of muffin.

 

Lance swallows, then says “Unicorn Frappucino.”

 

“This isn’t Starbucks, Lance!” Hunk calls back. “Your terrible taste will not be enabled here!”

 

Lance raises a finger in his direction. “Hunk, my man, you are a god in the kitchen, but you like espressos.”

 

"You just don’t get the subtle notes of coffee!” Hunk shoots back in outrage, busying himself with coffee beans, while Pidge pipes up “It’s like alcohol. It’s not about the taste, it’s about what it does.”

 

“Pidge, your instant coffee is trash-” Hunk counters, while Lance goes “Pidge, you’re _fifteen_.”

 

“And you’re seventeen, so, still not legal.” She grins insufferably.

 

"Soon, Pidgeon."

 

“I’m gonna make you freshly brewed coffee, Lance, and you’re gonna like it!” Hunk calls from the kitchen. “You too, Pidge!”

 

Hunk returns with an iced chocolate for himself, Pidge’s latte, and a frappuccino for Lance, which he takes a large gulp of and moans in despair. “Hunk, you’ve ruined me. How am I supposed to go back to Starbucks frappes after this buttercream masterpiece?”

 

“That was the _point_ , Lance.” Hunk preens, beaming. “I will teach you how to have _taste._ ”

 

“So, what did you want to tell us?” Pidge asks from the rim of her cup, a latte mustache on her face.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Lance pushes himself off the couch with his elbows (not with his chocolate-covered hands, he’s not a degenerate) and licks the chocolate off his fingers. “Could we, uhhh -” His eyes drifted briefly over Celeste, “maybe go to Hunk’s room?”

 

Celeste immediately gets to her feet. “Oh, no, you kids can stay here. I’ll just be in the other room.” She assures with a smile.

 

“Thanks, Mom.”

 

Loaded up with snacks and drinks, they crowd around Lance as he places his messenger bag on the wooden coffee table and unzips it, letting the bound documents, hardback booklets and paper packets spill out. One bumps against Pidge’s latte.

 

“I know this looks like a prank, but trust me, I wouldn’t do this _much_ work for a prank. _Sooo,_ " Lance gestures, "a few days ago, some guys in suits came over to my house.”

 

Hunk and Pidge curiously pick up the nearest thing to them but Lance shoves the hardback book into their faces, over the sheets in their hands.

 

“Guys in suits?” Hunk questions with a shiver. “That sounds ominous.”

 

“Sounds like a bad porno.”

 

“ _Pidge,_ ew.”

 

Pidge cackles, and Lance leans back on the couch, sipping his frappe to watch his friends read these fancy-schmancy royal documents. He can’t help but smile when Hunk’s jaw drops and Pidge’s eyes comically widen.

 

 

 

 

“Dude!” Hunk brandishes the sheets, flapping them around as Pidge slams the book on the table and screeches, half-laughing “what the fuck, Lance-!”

 

“Is this - Is this real?!” He bursts out uncontrollably, “You’re betrothed to Keith-?!”

 

“SHHH!” Lance shushes them loudly, lunging over the table to clamp his hands over their mouths. He looks around nervously, at the open door of Celeste and Nadia’s room, and hopes that she didn’t hear them. Keith’s a common name, she wouldn’t immediately guess the prince...right?

 

Hunk’s eyes are wide and Pidge’s unimpressed when Lance turns back to them. “Yup.”

 

“Honestly, if you were going to pull this prank, you would _never_ pick Keith.” Pidge smirks. “Not when you could pick some random princess. That’s how I know it isn’t fake. _Plus,”_ She points a finger smugly, “there’s a lot of embossing going on with these documents and you wouldn’t waste actual money on this.”

 

“I just can’t believe arranged marriages are still a thing.” Hunk exhales.

 

“I know, right? What freakin’ era is this?” Lance agrees.

 

“And you didn’t immediately scream about this on twitter? I’m impressed.” She teases.

 

“I can’t just tweet about things like that, jeez Pidgeon! I’d definitely get taken out by a hitman if I did!”

 

“But-!” Hunk whispers. “Why you? Is it the-” His eyes dart to Lance’s hands. “- the magic?”

 

“Yup.” Lance grabs that hardbacked booklet he’s been shoving under people’s noses the past few days, that particular shade of crimson burned into his mind by that point, and opens it for them to see. The first page reads _This information is confidential to the Palace, the prospective Prince Consort and his legal Guardians. Any attempts to leak this information to the public is a violation of-_

 

“Oh shit, uhhh.” Lance scratches his head, quickly flipping the page while Pidge smirks and Hunk looks scandalized. “Just don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

 

“Maybe.” Pidge snickers.

 

“You’d definitely be assassinated if you do that.”

 

“Well, you first, then me.”

 

“Here.” Lance taps the line about magical heirs at the appropriate page. Hunk and Pidge crane their necks forward to read it. “Some palace dudes came over to my house and told me my magic balances Keith’s. Somethin’ like that.”

 

Hunk frowns, then stares at Lance. “This is nuts, dude.”

 

“I know, man.” He sighs.  

 

“I mean, this is some medieval-level stuff! Wanting you to marry the Prince just because you have magic?!” Hunk exclaims, gesturing wildly. “Like the monarchy is old as dirt, but I didn’t think they’d pull stuff like this! People aren’t assets, they’re….people!”

 

“This is why you will never be a golddigger, Hunk.” Pidge snickers, and Lance kind of has to laugh.

 

“You know what I’m talking about, Pidge!”

 

“Yeah, but no one’s forcing Lance to.” She points out, pulling the booklet closer to her and flipping back to the front. “They mention-" Her voice goes high " _with the consent of the Prince Consort and his guardians-_ and then they talk about the constitution here, and part of the constitution is about not forcing people to get married.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Hunk says thoughtfully. “Then there actually isn’t a problem.” He concludes cheerily, smiling widely at Lance.

 

Lance exhales an awkward chuckle. He’s become rather familiar with that bit. “Well....”

 

Both of them snap their heads to stare at him.

 

“Crazy hypothetical,” Lance gesticulates, waving his hands around and his eyes trailing away. “But... what - if - I - said - yes?”

 

His gaze stays fixed on the window framed by thick curtains, watching birds fly past and people cross the road rather than his friends’ reactions, because he already knows what they’ll look like. Hunk with wide eyes and jaw fallen open, Pidge with her hands thrown up because she’s always ready to throw down. Oh hey someone dropped their donut on the pavement. That’s rough. Lance can relate.  

 

“Dude, are you serious?!” Hunk splutters.

 

“Why!?” Pidge nearly yells.  

 

“I just think-” Lance begins.

 

“No, no, dude, you can’t be seriously thinking about saying yes, can you?!” Hunk interrupts immediately.  “This is marriage! This - this isn’t a fling! This isn’t Jenny Shaybon! A summer fling!”

 

“Yes, but-” Lance flattens his palm against the table. “This is, like, the most amazing opportunity to ever exist, right?” He insists, looking from Hunk to Pidge. “I get to become a prince! And live in a huge palace, attended by servants, with lots of money to spend on whatever I want…” A smile spreads slowly on his face, the thought sounding better and better by the moment. “I become renowned all over the world...yeah, that sounds pretty sweet, doesn’t it? And I don’t even have to do anything!”

 

Pidge and Hunk send him a look, equal parts doubtful and concerned. “Yeah, but is that worth giving up everything?” Hunk questions, frowning. “Marrying a person you don’t love? Giving up your dream to be a fighter pilot? Giving up all your privacy?”

 

“Privacy? Pfft. I have three younger siblings, privacy never existed.” Lance waves away casually.

 

The tone is easy for him to muster, flippant words pouring out of his mouth like water. “It’s all part of the price I have to pay to become a celebrity.”

 

“Lance-” Hunk snaps, harshly, but Pidge interrupts.

 

“That’s bullshit.”

 

“No it’s not!” Lance protests.

 

Pidge leans forward, grabs one of the documents, opens it and sets it down in front of Lance with an audible slap. Lines of zeroes once again fill Lance’s sight.

 

“Is this about money?” She states, eyes narrowed.

 

He was certain she hadn't opened that yet, but trust Pidge to cut across all the bullshit.

 

Hunk stares, at the figures, and at Lance. “...dude…”

 

Lance recoils from the numbers like he’s been punched, blinking rapidly. “N-No, wait, look.” He takes another deep breath and begins as calmly as he can, under Pidge’s critical gaze and Hunk’s disapproving expression. This is serious. “Keith is an asshole. You know that. But that isn’t important. Agreeing to this is gonna help my family so much, we could actually pay off our mortgage, we could - hey-” he breaks off as Hunk and Pidge throw their hands up in exasperation.

 

“You’re really agreeing to this just for _money?!_ ”

 

“No - ack - you don’t get it! It’s going to improve my family’s lives and secure our future! That way my parents won’t have to worry about-”

 

“Money?” Hunk deadpans with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not fooling us, Lance.”

 

“No, it’s ... more than that.” Lance says weakly.

 

“Mm, yeah, it _definitely_ is more than that.” Pidge’s gathers the papers and documents with her arms up into a pile larger than their vacation homework. “Look at all this shit! All this red tape! They’re gonna tie you down if you say yes!”

 

“Read this.” She continues, not letting Lance get a word in edgewise, opening the red booklet and pushing it into his face. “Page 9, after the contents, so that’s the third page for you. The Prince Consort will take up permanent residence in the Imperial Palace.” Pidge reads.

 

“ _The Royal Offices will allow the Consort to continue his present education in the Galaxy Garrison with his husband, the Crown Prince_ -” Lance wrinkles his nose in disgust, “ _and prepare him for his future Royal duties as Prince Consort._ Page -” She flips through nearly the entire book “-33. Appendix. _The Royal Offices has the final authority to permit the Prince Consort to pursue further education or occupations outside of the Palace._ You know what this means?” Pidge stares at Lance.

 

“How the fuck do you read so fast?” He exclaims, because what else is he supposed to say.

 

“Footnotes. I’m a genius.” Her honey-brown eyes don’t blink. “This means you’re signing your future away to them! Why do you want to say yes, again? Huh?!”  

 

“I just-” Lance begins, hands raised, then finally deflates.

 

 

He drapes himself onto the coffee table, making sure to avoid faceplanting into the chocolate chip muffins. “Okay, you got me.” He mutters sarcastically. “I don’t want to marry Keith. _Surprise_.” He jerks his shoulders in a mock shrug.

 

“You’re finally making sense.” Hunk sighs in relief. “So what’s all this about?”

 

“I’unno, I just feel - like I should, I mean-” Lance rambles. “-you’ve all been to my house. You know my family. My mom and dad work several jobs and we still don’t always make ends meet. They’re paying for my Garrison fees which are still really high even though I’m on scholarship, and they’re gonna have to pay for my siblings’ education later on... ...If I married - _Keith-_ ” Lance’s face twists in disgust, “we’d have the money to pay for everything.”

 

“Do your parents know? Do they want you to say yes?!” Hunk asks anxiously.

 

“No, they don’t.” Lance mumbles. “They’re good parents, that kinda stuff. But...I dunno. I kinda want them to want me to say yes?” He furrows his brows, perplexed. “Is that weird?”

 

“You want someone to blame for your bad decisions.” Pidge summarizes, nodding sagely. “Yeah, I get that.”

 

“Hey, this is a _sacrifice_ , not a bad decision.”

 

“A sacrifice that no one asked for!” Hunk leans forward. “Dude. You don’t wanna do this. You know this is a bad idea. We know this is is a bad idea. Your parents too.”

 

“And, you said it, you’re gonna sacrifice your life for money.” Pidge bangs her fist on the coffee table in emphasis. “I know your family’s financial situation isn’t great, but...it’s just not worth it. I don’t think your parents would want you to do this.”

 

Lance sighed, and buried his face into the sheets of paper, inhaling their fresh, clean scent. He could also smell chocolate chip and coffee. “You’re right. They don’t.”

 

His shoulders sag in relief, even though the guilt is still there. Hunk and Pidge smile approvingly at him, and Hunk scoots over to ruffle Lance's hair affectionately. “Drink up before it's cold. Sugar makes you happy.”

 

“You’re damn right it does.” Lance’s voice is muffled by the thick, sweet liquid pouring down his throat. “Thanks, guys.”

 

“It’s our duty as friends to look out for you.” Pidge says, and Lance lets out a little “aww”, before teasing, “I thought friends are supposed to support my decisions.”

 

“Friends support you by stopping you from doing stupid shit.” Hunk states. He starts tidying the documents, slotting them into a neat stack and putting the books together as Lance grabs another muffin and chows down on it, praising Hunk’s family line for their heavenly culinary skills. The heavy weight resting in his stomach since this all started finally begins to lift.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks pass.

 

Lance has his 18th birthday in the meantime. He'd been saving up for this milestone for several months now, squirreling money away wherever he could, and the day itself was held in a fancy function room in a hotel with floor-to-ceiling windows, golden twinkly lights, not to mention bubbly champagne, a chocolate fountain, a jacuzzi pool, the latest Nintendo Switch III -

 

In short, it was awesome. Hunk, Pidge, and entire family were there, Abuelita ended up paying for it in the end so that Lance could give his savings to his parents - or tried to, as they turned him down.

 

He returned to school a new man, relaxed and refreshed for the start of his now-legal-adult, 18-year-old life. The betrothal slowly faded from his mind, Keith even sparing him a nod of acknowledgement when they passed in the hallways instead of his usual indifference. It stunned Lance out of his usual icy glare at the Prince.

 

That was until he received a call during lunch one day.

 

"Veronica's calling me." Lance said to Hunk in curiosity, staring at his sister's image on his phone. "Hey, Ronnie? Whats up-"

 

_"Dad's in the hospital."_

 

Hunk and Pidge witness the colour drain out of Lance’s face, his lips moving in silent words. He shoots up, clutching his bag, a strangled “I need to go-” spilling out of his mouth.

 

He doesn’t hear them yelling at him above the buzz of students as he bolts out of the school canteen, past the teacher who shouts at him for running in the hallways, the pounding of his feet and the raging of his heart a single cacophony.

 

Fuck school. He's out of the gate before anyone can catch him, digging his bus card out of his bag, sweat-soaked hair clinging onto his forehead as he runs toward the nearest bus stop and jumps onto the first familiar bus to take him to the subway. Moisture smears on his phone screen as he frantically checks for directions and taps messages to Veronica.

 

_Where is he what hospital_

 

_what happened_

 

 _Work accident. He fell off a ladder._ Veronica replies, as Lance sucks in deep gasps of air into his screaming, searing lungs, hunched over on a metal subway seat.

 

_is he gonna be ok_

 

_I don’t know._

 

He’s the last one to reach Dad’s ward, Mami and his other siblings having reached there first in their car. Chest heaving and shirt sticking unpleasantly to his sweaty skin, he’s a mess, but they say nothing as Mami pulls him in closer with her arm around him.

 

Broken leg. Fractured hip. Extensive bruising.

 

His younger siblings crowd around Dad, shocked and scared. Marco’s already crying, and Mami is trying to be strong.

 

“Hey there, Lance.” Dad smiles wearily at him from the bed when Lance finally approaches. From his waist to his feet, he’s in a bright blue cast, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever. The ECG beeps steadily and Lance feels his eyes fill with tears as he reaches out to hug his father.

 

“It’ll be okay, hijo.” He reassures.

 

The doctor has informed them that Dad’s condition is stable, and that with enough rest and physical therapy he will heal just fine.

 

What won't be fine is how they're going to pay for it. Before payment plans and medical insurance have been raised, Lance already knows those won't solve anything.

 

They’re going to be in debt for a long time.

 

Unless.

 

He stays with Mami throughout the day, thoughts whirring even as he urges her to eat something to keep her energy up. Hunk and Pidge arrive after school is over, having been updated via text. Lance manages a watery grin.

 

“My Dad’s gonna be ok.” He murmurs. “He just needs to rest and recover.”

 

Pidge nods, looking like the young fifteen-year-old she is, and Hunk comforts him with a soft smile. “That’s great, man.”

 

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” Lance says with the best smile he can manage. He gestures away from them, outside the hospital cafeteria, and Hunk pats his shoulder in understanding as Lance walks away.

 

Guess his decision was ultimately made for him.

 

Once they’re out of earshot, Lance pulls out his phone and the slightly crumpled namecard that has been sitting in his back pocket for several days. He runs his thumb along the embossed lettering, repeating the phone numbers in his mind as he swipes his phone open.

 

The dial tone rings twice before it’s promptly picked up. “Lance McClain?” Ulaz’s voice comes in from the other side.

 

“Yeah, it’s me. The answer’s yes.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck voltron canon amiright. the fandom has to fix everything around here
> 
> find me at @luuuunadiane on twitter, but it's mostly me yelling about everything


End file.
